


A Change in Scenery

by marbleflower12



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Writer Betty Cooper, Writer Jughead Jones, anxious betty, but positive and coming from a place of growth, fluff and light angst and def smut, jughead in recovery, mentions of rehab and mental health issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23708830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marbleflower12/pseuds/marbleflower12
Summary: Betty and Jug are both writers who meet by chance at an out of town conference. They are both dealing with struggles from the past and decide to take a wild chance on each other-- they promise to be completely honest and vulnerable with each other, just for this week. No secrets, no shame, only openness and trust.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 15
Kudos: 51





	1. The Conference

**Author's Note:**

> Hi peeps! It's my very first ever fic. (Other than the oregon trail ones I wrote in the mid 90s. But no one needs to know about those.) 
> 
> ANYWAYS. Hopefully y'all enjoy! You can find me on tumblr at marbleflower12 ... we should be friends :)

“Listen, are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?” - Mary Oliver

\--- 

Jughead exhaled in irritation as he stared at the cursor blinking on the mostly blank page on his laptop. He yanked his beanie off his head and ran his hands through his thick black hair. He had typed and deleted the same sentence for what felt like most of the morning and was growing increasingly frustrated with himself. Pushing back in his chair, he grabbed the pamphlet his editor Ethel had given him earlier in the week. It was for a writers conference being held at a small private university a few hours outside the city. 

After he had confided in Ethel how behind he was in his writing schedule for his second book, she had "taken the liberty" of sending in an application to the conference on his behalf, which had, of course, been accepted. She had been badgering him to attend ever since. It was just the sort of thing she was always pushing him to do and he was invariably refusing. Go spend a whole week with a bunch of (pretentious) strangers in a remote location? Suffer through a bunch of boozy receptions he had no interest in taking part in after his stint in rehab 18 months ago? No thanks. The thought of it gave him intense social anxiety. 

His writer’s block wasn't at the point of complete crisis, but he was getting more nervous as the days went by and his page count barely increased. He had hit bumps along the way when writing his first novel, a loosely autobiographical book about his life as a gang member in a crime ridden town, but back then he had had so much to say and the words poured out of him chaotically most days. The problem then had been editing and refining rather than writing. But now? With a deadline looming, panic was beginning to set in. 

"You should go. A change of scenery might be just what you need to get you out of this funk. Besides, it’s a good networking opportunity!" Ethel had looked at him so earnestly the last they had talked about it, and he found himself feeling slightly more open minded to the idea. 

Jughead thumbed through the pamphlet and had to admit that it did sound interesting. Workshops, lectures, poetry readings, even sessions on journaling and meditation as ways to focus and improve creativity. He had read the work of some of the presenters and he knew that one of his childhood friends, Joquin de Santos, would be doing a reading from his most recently published poetry anthology. It would be nice to catch up with him, at least. 

He grabbed his phone, and shot off a quick text to Ethel-- fine. I'll go. Less than a minute later he got back a thumbs up emoji, and a promise to make all the necessary arrangements. 

\----

"Betty. Go home! It is 7:30 on a Friday night! Everyone else is gone." 

Betty looked up from her desk with a start as she glanced at the time on her computer. She had been so immersed in the research for her most recent article that she had lost track of time. Her sadly wilted mason jar salad sat half uneaten beside her, abandoned some time earlier during a flurry of typing. She looked around the office at the sea of empty cubes. 

"Why are you still here?" she asked Kevin in confusion, slowly stretching out from her position hunched over her computer. She tightened her ponytail and glanced up at Kevin again, hoping he wasn’t in a mood to give her another lecture about work life balance.

"I forgot my phone and had to run back to grab it. You are seriously the only one here! Does being alone in this dark building not freak you out?" Kevin stared at her in mild exasperation and concern. "You are running yourself ragged with all these 12 hour days. Why don't you ditch work for once and come get a drink with me and Ronnie? She's apparently bringing some single friends of hers!" 

Betty wavered for a moment. Letting loose did sound amazing, especially after how hard she had been pushing herself at work during the last 8 months since the shitshow that was her breakup with Reggie. But she decided to stand firm "I really need to finish this article. I want to get this turned in before we leave for the writers conference Monday and I just need a couple thousand more words." 

"Okay fine, but you need to find someone cute to hook up with at the conference! Last year it was a hotbed of hook ups and drama! We are going to have so much fun this year! I heard Joaquin de Santos is coming and Betty, have you seen his Instagram??? Pure hotness. We need to find you someone too!" Kevin said with an excited look on his face. Betty rolled her eyes but grinned at her friend’s never ending enthusiasm. 

\---

It was almost 9:30 when Betty got home. She had made the short walk home through the humid city air to clear her mind and get some time outside. This was probably not what Kevin had intended when rhapsodizing about the benefits of 20 minutes of fresh air a day in his most recent article in the health section of the magazine, she thought with a grimace. 

She dropped her keys into a bowl on the table by the door, put her purse on its hook, wandered into her bedroom, and kicked off her shoes. Her mind was still racing with the research on the rise of cults in suburban America she had just done, but she was exhausted and couldn’t force herself to write one more word. She stared at herself in the mirror over her dresser. Her green eyes were bloodshot from staring at a screen all day and the concealer she had put over the dark circles was starting to wear away. She looked exhausted. Her cat Caramel slowly got up from her spot at the end of the bed, stretched, and wandered over to Betty. “What the fuck am I even doing this for, Caramel? In my next life I’m going to be a cat. Get to take naps all day long. You’re living the dream and don’t even know it.” Betty glanced at the bed and considered just flopping down and going to sleep, but thoughts of her mother’s sharp tone invaded her mind “We wash our face before bed, Betty. Do you want to ruin your skin?” In the bathroom, Betty executed her four step skin-care regimen with the military precision of daily routine. 

She grabbed her suitcase out of the hall closet and pulled it into her bedroom. She vowed not to work tomorrow, but to run errands and pack and get ready to head out for the writers conference. Maybe this change in scenery would be the break she needed.


	2. The Reading

Betty rushed into the lecture hall and ungracefully plopped down into a seat in the back row, dropped her bag onto the floor, and shoved it under her chair with her feet. She normally preferred to sit in the front, but she had hit traffic coming out of the city and by the time she had gotten checked in, she was running so close to the start of the opening lecture that this would have to do. Each table had a couple of chairs at it, and the chair next to hers had a leather jacket slung over the back and an open notebook with a vintage looking ballpoint pen sitting on top. 

“What sort of person would use a pen like that?” she idly wondered. Probably some pretentious hipster who typed his manuscripts on a typewriter. He had interesting-looking handwriting though, and as a person who kept an organized set of eight Pilot V5s in different colors --she kept her planner color coded thank you very much-- she had to appreciate someone who was dedicated to a specific pen. 

Jughead walked back to his seat from the drinks station with his mug of coffee in his hand. He noticed with mild irritation that someone had claimed the seat next to his, but his annoyance faded as he got a closer look at the woman at the table. Her beautiful face seemed fresh and classic at the same time. She was chatting with a tall man with sandy hair at the table in front of theirs and looked so lively and intelligent as she spoke and listened. She was wearing a pale blue top with little flowers on it tucked into a yellow skirt that showed off her long, toned legs, and a white cardigan that looked so soft he had the sudden wild thought that he should come up with an excuse to touch her. He huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes at his own absurdity, and walked the rest of the way to his seat. 

When he set his coffee down on the table, she looked up at him with her brilliant green eyes and friendly smile, and had opened her mouth to say something. Right then, the head of the conference stepped up to the podium to introduce the speaker, so she shut her mouth and gave him a quick half smile before turning back to give the speaker her attention. He dropped into his chair and focused his attention on the front of the room, shaking off the pang of irritation at the bad timing. 

“Tonight’s speaker will be Dr. Geraldine Grundy, professor of creative writing in the graduate program of the university. Her critically acclaimed book ‘Young at Heart’ was on the New York Times best seller list for a year and a half and is considered a feminist answer to the cult classic Lolita. In it, she explores themes of consent, repression, and passion in the relationship between an older woman and her teenage male lover. Please join me in welcoming Dr. Grundy to tonight’s reading!” 

The room erupted into applause as Dr. Grundy walked to the podium to begin her reading. From time to time, Betty couldn’t help but look over at her seatmate to gauge his reactions. She hadn’t gotten around to reading Grundy’s book yet, despite the amazing reviews. She felt a bit disturbed by the subject matter, especially with all the investigative work she had done on sex trafficking of minors a few years back, and hearing passages from the book in Geraldine’s breathy voice drove home Betty’s distaste. Apparently her seatmate felt the same way, as his face went from incredulous to scowling as the reading droned on. 

Why does he look so familiar to me? I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere... Betty mused as she snuck another look at his lanky frame. He was wearing a dark red short sleeved shirt with the top couple of buttons unbuttoned, dark jeans, and beat up black boots. His arms were lightly muscled and she saw the edge of a tattoo peeking out from the bottom of one sleeve. His gray crown beanie struggled to contain his lush black hair, and a curl tumbled across his forehead. Her eyes landed on his hands. One hand was wrapped around the coffee mug, the other was twirling the pen with his long fingers. Fuck, he was hot. She idly wondered what it would feel like to have those hands on her body. Her mind drifted back to Kevin’s enthusiastic suggestions about hooking up at the conference and she felt flushed all over. 

She realized with a start that she had been staring at his hands for too long and quickly glanced at his face to make sure he hadn’t noticed. He met her concerned look with a quirk of his eyebrow and a shake of his head towards Grundy. She sighed, relieved that he hadn’t noticed her checking him out, and was glad to see at least one person agreed with her on Grundy’s subject matter. Betty scanned the room and no one else looked perturbed. Kevin had his chin propped on his hand at the table in front of her and was staring rapturously at Dr. Grundy as she spoke. 

When the reading was over, the room once again erupted in applause and excited chatter as everyone stood up, gathered their belongings and started heading towards the reception next door. Betty caught snippets of enthusiastic conversations around her, “God that was amazing” “She is such an inspired writer!” “I loved her themes of longing and alienation within the context of the taboo!” 

Betty rolled her eyes just as she was making eye contact with her seatmate. His scowl turned immediately into a smirk and she felt her cheeks blossom with heat. He had the most striking blue eyes and she found herself locked in his gaze. 

“That was just weird.” she blurted out before she could stop herself, as she gestured vaguely towards the front of the room. He nodded with a chuckle, leaned in towards her, and said quietly “yeah, but don’t let anyone else hear you saying that or you might get kicked out of the cool writers club!” She became increasingly aware of their close proximity as he was now close enough for her to be able to smell his scent, cedar mingled with the leather smell of his jacket. 

She shook her head lightly to get her mind back on track and went on, “It reminds me of this phase I went through in college where I checked out all the John Waters movies the library had and watched them over the course of a couple of weeks. Like yeah, it’s transgressive and edgy, but by the end of it I was actually questioning what it said about me as a person.” 

He nodded, smirked again, stuck out his hand to introduce himself. He was NETWORKING. Ethel would be so proud. Nevermind it was with one of the most striking women he had ever seen. 

“I’m Jughead Jones.” 

“Betty Cooper.” His handshake was warm and firm and she hated having to let go. 

Jughead Jones!??! That’s who he was??!? She had loved his book, had read it several times, and couldn’t believe she was actually meeting him in person and that she was blurting things out left and right and had been staring at his hands creepily. This was off to a good start. 

“So what was your favorite one?” 

“My … what?” 

She tried valiantly to figure out what he was asking but was so flustered it took her a moment. 

“John Waters movie.” 

“Oh.” she grinned and admitted guiltily “Crybaby.” 

Several thoughts tumbled through his head at once. He was slightly thrilled thinking about the visual similarities between Betty and Allison, the uptight good-girl-turned-bad heroine of the movie, complete with blonde ponytail. And the corresponding similarities between him and the brooding bad-boy-turned-good hero of the movie. Complete with leather jacket. “I wonder if I’m her type?” he wondered stupidly. His mind clicked through the vast stockpile of hilariously cheesy quotes from that movie like slides in a vintage slide deck.

“My little sister forced me to watch that movie one too many times when she was deep in her Johnny Depp fangirl phase” he admitted. He couldn’t help himself, and quoted to her in his best Crybaby impression,

“Allison. I’m an orphan too. And orphans have…” he paused dramatically for effect. 

“Special needs” they finished together, both bursting into laughter. 

The laughter broke the ice and loosened some of the pre-conference anxiety in Jughead’s chest and he felt a small quiet sense of kinship begin to blossom. It also attracted the attention of Kevin, who spun around and immediately gave Jughead and Betty an openly curious perusal and came over to introduce himself. 

“Oh my god! You’re Jughead Jones??? Betty was so in love with your book that she would not shut up about it for days after she read it! I think she used color coded post-it notes to tab her favorite sections!” 

“Jesus Christ, Kevin.” Betty flushed scarlet. “Way to play it cool.” 

Jughead just chuckled. “Post it notes, eh?”


	3. The Reception

Conversation flowed easily between the three of them at the reception after the reading and Jughead was glad to fold himself into the easy familiarity of Kevin and Betty’s friendship. In the middle of a sentence, Kevin suddenly stopped talking, reached out, and grabbed Betty’s arm. His eyes were locked onto someone across the room. “Betty. I think I see him.” 

“Joaquin?” Jughead asked, following Kevin’s awestruck gaze. Kevin’s head snapped to Jughead. “Yes. Do you know him??” “Yeah, we grew up together back in Toledo. Do you want me to introduce you?” 

Kevin adjusted his button down shirt and looked uncharacteristically nervous. “Don’t worry. He likes ‘em preppy.” Jughead said with a grin. Betty’s genuine smile over Kevin’s excitement and bashfulness encouraged Jughead to go over and grab Joaquin and introduce him to both Kevin and Betty. 

“Jughead made friends?” Joaquin joked. “It’s a miracle he’s even here. And now he’s talking to people?” 

Jughead scowled and rolled his eyes. “I’m not the unabomber, Joaquin.” Jughead turned to say something to Betty and his heart jolted at the gentle amusement he found reflected back at him. Joaquin glanced between the two of them before turning his full attention to Kevin. 

After a few more minutes of talking, Jughead’s stomach growled. Loudly. The food table was being replenished with heavy late night snacks perfect for a boozy reception. He thanked all that was good and holy in this world for this timely development and after heaping an obnoxiously tiny reception plate with a mountain of sliders, he continued chatting while wolfing down his food. “Where do you put it all?” Betty asked him, her eyes wide as slider after slider vanished. 

Joaquin had gone off to fetch a scotch for himself and a gin and tonic for Kevin, who was by now a few drinks in and rapidly losing access to his social-appropriateness filter. He looked at Jughead’s coffee mug and suddenly asked, “Didn’t I read something about you going to rehab a while back?” 

Jughead cringed slightly, “Yeah, the whole thing was pretty public, unfortunately.” 

Betty had gone quiet and he wondered if she had read about the drunken scene he had made two years ago. He had been at a bookstore in Brooklyn where he was supposed to be doing a reading on the book tour for his first novel. He had been trying to deal with the trauma of his past and the pressure of his sudden rise to literary fame by attempting to consume his body weight in bourbon on a daily basis. Which, as it turned out, did not mix well with being heckled by a bookstore customer over the weather appropriateness of a wool hat in June. Cops had been called and it resulted in his public intoxication arrest, a brief local media frenzy, and ultimately, a several month stint in rehab. Jughead fiddled with his coffee cup, caught off guard and unsure of how honest he wanted to be. Mercifully, Betty jumped in with a quick but awkward segue and redirected the conversation to some of the workshops coming up over the next few days. But feelings of shame and embarrassment licked at the edges of his consciousness. 

As the reception dragged on, Jughead started to feel claustrophobic. These parties were notorious for getting kind of wild. The volume level and temperature rose throughout the next hour as people got more glassy eyed and flushed with each round of drinks. Joaquin already had his arm around Kevin’s waist and his hand tucked into the back pocket of Kevin’s pants and they were practically nuzzling each other. 

“Can I get you anything?” Jughead asked Betty awkwardly, motioning towards the bar. She had been nursing a single glass of wine all evening long, and was now shredding the corners of her cocktail napkin. As the energy between Kevin and Joaquin became increasingly charged, they were both suddenly very aware of their relative level of inhibited clearheadedness. “Nah, I want to go to that meditation and journaling session tomorrow morning, and I don’t drink much anyway.” He nodded and realized he didn’t have much else to say. 

He looked a couple tables over and saw Dr. Grundy making out with her much younger boyfriend. Her fingers were threaded through his red hair as he sucked on her neck, and his hands were clutching her hips as she tilted her head back in sloppy bliss. Jughead was unbearably overheated and irritated and felt the intense need to get the hell out of this reception as soon as possible. “Okay, well. I’m going to go. See you tomorrow, I guess.” he said giving Betty a nod. He turned and abruptly walked out of the party. 

Betty clenched her jaw and sighed. It had all been going so well until Kevin had gotten in Jughead’s business about going to rehab. Then the mood had changed, he had gotten stand-offish and bailed. She sighed again and decided to head out too. After trying to say a quick goodbye to Kevin and Joaquin, who were so focused on each other they didn’t even notice, she walked out of the roar of the party into the cool clear night. She took a deep breath of the fresh country air and looked up at the stars, which were actually visible this far outside the city. 

There were a variety of accommodations available for the conference, from dorm rooms, large multi bedroom houses, to several rows of small guest cottages. In an uncharacteristic splurge, Betty had reserved a guest cottage for herself. She tended to get a bit overwhelmed by conferences and wanted to have a space just for herself at the end of a long day. She walked towards the path to the cottages, enjoying the quiet summer night after the roar of the reception. The sound of crickets chirping and the occasional twinkle of a firefly brought back memories of camping in her back yard with Polly when she was a kid. Back when things were simple and happy. The thought snapped her back to the present moment, and she sighed. 

She turned onto the path and was surprised to see Jughead leaning on the railing on the porch of one of the cottages, rubbing his face with both hands. A small wave of guilt washed over her. Ignoring the lifetime of training she had received that told her to carry on like everything is Just Fine after something uncomfortable happens, she walked with purpose towards Jughead’s cottage, her heart pounding. He looked up when he heard her coming and regarded her silently.


	4. Confessions

“I tell you this   
to break your heart.   
By which I mean only   
That it break open and never close again  
To the rest of the world” - Mary Oliver

\---

“I’m sorry Kevin brought that up.” Betty stood with her hands folded together in front of her, her head held high, but too nervous to make direct eye contact. Jughead stared at her with a furrowed brow and an unreadable expression, slowly straightening up. As the silence hung in the air, she felt her own anxiety bubble up to the surface. “It’s just. I-I know what it’s like. I mean, not rehab, but I went through some traumatic stuff in high school and I had to go away to get treatment so I could get my mental health back on track and everyone knew what had happened when I got back. It was really weird and awkward for a while trying to fit back in... let alone having to answer a bunch of prying questions” she trailed off quietly. The silence was mercifully broken by his soft chuckle, and the sound caused a thrill to run through Betty’s body. She let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding as a small measure of relief washed over her at the sound. 

“When I was in rehab, I came up with this phrase in my mind that explained why I was so quickly comfortable with the other people who were in there with me. I called it ‘the alcoholic namaste: the fuck up in me sees and recognizes the fuck up in you.’ So thank you for seeing and trying to rescue the fuck up in me.” 

Betty giggled at her instinctive understanding of Jughead’s sarcastic but accurate phrase. “I just hate that we basically ran you out of the reception.” she admitted guiltily, looking down at the ground.

“Don’t blame yourself, Betty. I wasn’t in the best place even before I got here. I promise, it wasn’t you.” 

“What’s going on? Do you want to talk about it?” Curiosity and concern played across Betty’s face. Her green eyes were staring at him with the same carefully focused intelligence he had seen when she had been listening to Kevin back in the lecture hall. 

Jughead sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was dump a bunch of his bullshit all over this virtual stranger. But for whatever reason, he felt an instinctual and rare sense that he could trust her. 

“Yeah. Actually, that would be great.” He pulled his hat off and raked his hands through his hair. Betty’s eyes followed his hands and he could have sworn he saw her tongue dart out to lick her lower lip. “Do you want to come inside? It’s kind of dark out here.” he added as an afterthought, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Betty nodded and climbed the handful of steps onto the porch.

Once they were settled on opposite ends of the couch in the cottage, Jughead began feeling self conscious again. “What is it Jug?” The nickname slipped out of her mouth and the familiarity calmed and anchored him. She had her hands folded in her lap and her feet tucked under her, leaning back on the arm of the couch, regarding him quietly. 

“I’m having trouble writing.” he blurted out. And then the floodgates opened. 

“I’ve written my whole life. It’s been like therapy, helping me process everything going on around me. Even when it made me look like some kind of weirdo, I used to hole up at this diner in the town where I grew up and write for hours. In the past it’s always been so natural. But the deadline for the first portion of my second book is in a month and I’m so far behind where I need to be it’s not even funny. It’s been a goddamned slog. I don’t even know what I’m writing about. Everything seems stilted and weird, even though it’s a similar concept to my first book, sort of a continuation of the story? And yeah, you’re right. Everything has been awkward since I got out of rehab too, so that might have something to do with it.” As the truth tumbled out, Jughead started feeling the vague awareness that he was word vomiting onto Betty. But damn, it felt good to finally get it all out, so he forged ahead. 

“It’s not just the prying questions, I’ve had to relearn how to live my life sober, I feel like I’m doing literally everything for the first time all over again, relearning how to be a functional adult, it’s been over a year since I’ve even been on a date, let alone slept with anyone. I came to this conference not because I wanted to, but because I’m in a place of desperation with my book. I know I need to put myself out there and learn how to be in a social setting, but it’s still tough. Especially when it’s a reception filled with other successful writers, where everyone is drunk and pairing up. And, no offense, I really enjoyed meeting you and Kevin, so the party tonight wasn’t all bad, but fuck, I just miss being able to really let go and not care. Like that feeling where you don’t have to fully put yourself out there because you have liquid courage and whatever happens happens. You have to figure out how to handle it once there’s nothing artificial to rely on and you have to do it on your own. And I don’t know how to do that with my writing or in other aspects of my life, and it’s making me feel like I’m going crazy.” 

“Oh...” Betty whispered. 

The look on her face during his little rant had started with compassion and understanding, but by the end was a smirk of amusement, her green eyes glittering with mirth. “So are you saying you’re … frustrated?” Betty’s heart was pounding even as the words left her mouth. She couldn’t believe her sudden boldness but she also had not been this excited to connect with another person in a long time (forever?) and had the phrase “fuck it.” echoing through her mind.

Jughead felt heat rise up the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment at her teasing tone and everything he had just admitted. She held their intense eye contact and the silence in the room was deafening.

“Maybe I could help you.” Her voice was low and steady, with each word carefully enunciated. 

“How?” his throat was terribly dry and his voice almost broke.

She scooted across the couch to him, slowly sank down, straddling his lap, carefully placed her hands on either side of his face, with her thumbs stroking his cheekbones gently. He stared up at her, heart pounding, mouth slightly open. Slowly she angled his face upward, and leaned down so that the tips of their noses were touching. With her eyelids fluttering shut, she pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, and then another. 

His body reacted almost instantly as he reached out to pull her closer. As their kisses deepened, he threaded one hand through her hair, tugging on her ponytail holder lightly, loosening it. His other hand traced up the side of her thigh and came to rest on her lower back, holding her against him more tightly. She gently flicked her tongue across his lips and he opened his mouth to her. Their kisses became more heated and wet, tongues stoking, angles deepening. He ran his hands along the side of her ribs, rubbing along her sides with his thumbs. The sweater was just as soft as he had imagined it would be. 

Her hands had moved from the side of his face and were bunched in his hair as she leaned into his touch. He reached up and cupped her breasts in his hands, stroking over the thin material of her blouse, earning him a breathy moan. They had barely started making out and he was already so hard and the noises she was making were not helping matters. Betty began rocking her hips against him instinctively to relieve the ache that was building between her legs, and they both moaned at the same time, Jughead’s hands flying to her hips to hold her to him and increase the friction as she ground down along his hard length. 

Jughead suddenly pulled back, staring at Betty. They were both flushed and panting, pupils blown wide. Betty’s hair was falling out of her ponytail and she looked impossibly beautiful. 

“Betty....”   
“Yes?”   
He stared at her silently, unsure of how to explain his terror over this possibly being a total unmitigated disaster. She could see the panic rising on his face and reached back out to stroke his cheek, scooting back on his lap.  
“Jug, do you want to stop?”  
“No!” he blurted out forcefully, “It’s not that I want to, but. I. I can’t…I don’t know if...” he trailed off, unsure of what to say next. 

Betty took a steadying breath, reached up and tugged her ponytail holder out, and ran her fingers through her hair, bringing some level of order to the golden chaos. The look of compassion was back on her face, and she rested her hand on his arm as she began to speak. 

“Jug, you just shared a lot with me, so let me tell you something about myself. In my life, to my friends, I look like I’m in control all the time. But it’s not real. I put up this facade that looks picture perfect. I have been rewarded for the image of who people think I am. I work all the time. All the time. I produce all these relentlessly edited articles. But honestly, I edit my whole life in that exact same relentless way. And it’s crushing me. I feel like I can’t trust anyone to like the real me but I never give anyone a chance. And I’m so fucking over living this way. For whatever reason I feel comfortable with you. Believe me, I don’t normally do this” Betty broadly gestured between the two of them. “But what if, just for this week, we were completely open and honest with each other? As an experiment? With our writing, with our thoughts, and with ourselves. Just this week. We can take it slow. And if it’s awful we can go our separate ways and never have to see each other again.” 

Jughead’s mind raced at the proposition, his heart pounding at the absurd (but appealing?) notion of turning everything over and baring his soul to a near stranger. She looked into his darkened eyes questioningly. He nodded slightly, let out a breath, and simply said “okay,” his nervousness giving way to the thrill of whatever was going to happen next.


	5. 20 Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probs should have combined this and the last chapter, but as Edna Mode says, "never look back darling! It distracts from the now!" 
> 
> Anyway, long story short, pants are coming off.

“Okay.” she echoed back. She settled herself back down sideways on the couch, cross legged, and looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. He turned his body to face her, and pulled his legs up so they were sitting knee to knee. As relieved as he was to have a moment to collect himself, he didn’t want their physical connection to end. He was just about to break the silence when she spoke, her face lighting up mischievously.

“Now, if we’re going to get to know each other, and bare our souls, let’s start with the basics. What is your most embarrassing moment, biggest regret, and what are you into, sexually?” 

Jughead stared at her in blank, open-mouthed shock for a long beat before bursting into laughter at the absurd level of social inappropriateness in these extremely personal questions. Betty grinned back at him, but held eye contact and raised her eyebrows, waiting for his answers, and he felt challenged to respond. 

“You can take a turn with extremely prying questions too, or I can answer these same ones, if you want.” she added. 

“Okay, fine. I’ll start out with the easy one.” 

Betty quirked an eyebrow and leaned forward, eyes shining with enthusiasm. 

“The embarrassing moment happened about a year ago. My dog Hotdog had been having some issues with peeing inside and the vet wanted to check him for a UTI, but he was elderly and would get really stressed by trips to the vet. So she had me collect a urine specimen to drop off. I had to follow Hotdog around outside with a cup and try to hold it under him when he peed. Just as I was … uh… having some success, my next door neighbor walked by and we made direct eye contact. I mean. Direct.” Jughead rubbed his jaw and continued. “She was already a difficult, nosy person, but she looked completely disgusted every time she saw me after that. I think she thought I was some kind of animal-molesting pervert. God knows what she told our other neighbors.” 

“Oh my god” Betty whispered, choking back a giggle. “That’s pretty good.” 

“You?”

Betty reddened, looking down at her lap, suddenly regretful of her cavalier choice of personal questions. She gnawed at her bottom lip for a moment, as she worked up the courage to tell her story. She finally took a deep breath, blew it out, and began speaking. 

“So my mom was really strict growing up, and I never really dated in high school. So I got to college really inexperienced. I discovered I could unbuckle my first college boyfriend’s belt with my mouth. It was like … I don’t know… a fun party trick or something in my mind? After he and I broke up, I had started talking to this other guy, who I had a massive crush on and I was a nervous wreck in front of. He was, in retrospect, a major douche, and he was being a real asshole to me about my lack of experience. So I told him about my belt trick. And he dared me to prove it. There I was, down on my knees in front of him on the scratchy dorm room carpet, and I could not get his belt undone no matter how hard I tried. The longer it went on the more panicked I was. Did I stop? Did I keep going? Which would be worse? Eventually I gave up. He laughed and left and that was the end of that attempted flirtation. It was a solid 10 years ago and I’m still mortified when I think about it.”

Betty trailed off quietly, feeling her ears and cheeks burning. Jughead reached out and put his hand on her forearm, and rubbed it gently with his thumb. “Betts…. Do you think you could get my belt open with your mouth?” She jerked her head up to see him waggling his eyebrows with a twinkle in his eyes and a huge grin on his face. She looked down at his pants-- no belt. Just a pair of suspenders hanging off the waist band. “See, you wouldn’t have any trouble getting me out of my pants. And come on, at least you didn’t molest a dog!” Another giggle bubbled out of Betty’s mouth and her embarrassment dissolved. 

“So, I wouldn’t have any trouble getting you out of your pants?” Betty repeated back with a cheeky grin. Her smile faltered and slipped off her face as she met his gaze and saw him looking at her heatedly. 

Before she had time to react, Jughead reached out and grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into his lap with a growl. She sunk down into his lap gratefully, a happy sigh slipping out of her mouth. He grabbed her waist, pulled her body flush against his, and found her lips for a bruising kiss. 

After a few more minutes of heated kissing and grinding, she reached down to unbutton his pants. “Let’s just take the edge off tonight.” she whispered. This time her questioning eye contact got her a nod, and Jughead reached down to help her shove his pants and boxers down. She stood back up, dropped her panties to the floor, bunched her skirt back up, and settled her dripping core along his length with a whimper. He let out a groan and clenched his jaw, teetering on the edge just from feeling her wetness against his flushed and sensitive skin. Betty continued sliding back and forth, torturously slowly, grinding her clit against the sensitive spot under the head of his dick. He stopped her, just long enough to pull off his shirt and toss it to the ground. She bit her bottom lip and stared at him, raking her eyes over his toned chest and arms until he leaned back in and began kissing her slowly and deeply. He had reached under her skirt and was holding onto her bare ass with both hands and guiding her pace and began thrusting up with his hips to meet her as she ground down, her legs shaking, so close. She leaned back after a moment, resting her hands on his knees. He slowly reached for the front of her skirt, and bunched it up to her waist, holding it out of the way so they could both see his dick, red and leaking, sliding along her wet and swollen core. “Fuck” Betty whispered, impossibly turned on by the sight. After a few more thrusts, she tightened and felt throbs of pleasure start to rip through her body as she ground down on him, riding out an intense orgasm. The sight of her release had him tumble over the edge, as he let out a loud groan and began to pulse through his own, thrusting into his hand to try to keep Betty’s skirt as clean as possible. 

As their breathing settled, he looked up at Betty to see a huge grin on her face. He couldn’t help but return it. She leaned over, gave him one more kiss, stood up, smoothed out her skirt, picked her panties up off the floor, and shoved them into her bag. “See, that wasn’t so bad was it?” 

He chuckled in response. 

“G’nite, Jug. See you tomorrow… We’re not done with 20 questions. And more where that came from.” 

He stared after her as she walked out of the cottage, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click. A stupid grin was still plastered on his face. He made a mental note to send Ethel a fruit basket or something when he got back to the city. 

Betty flopped down onto the bed in her cottage, her heart still pounding and endorphins and adrenaline flooding her body. She couldn’t believe what had just happened, from the conversation to the fooling around. She had never done anything like that. Ever. She waited for the shame and regret spiral to start. But nothing came up. She only felt one thing: happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, also the dog story was adapted from something I read in one of those most embarrassing moments threads somewhere... It greatly amused me to picture it with Jug and Hotdog.


	6. Clarity

Jughead had done a fair bit of meditating as part of his recovery process. It had been encouraged when he was in treatment, and he tried to keep up with it at first, but had fallen out of the habit. What he was not expecting with this morning session was a short “moving meditation” as the first step in the guided meditation process. The instructions on the agenda had suggested “comfortable dress” and now he understood why. Rows of yoga mats were set up. Betty was already sitting on one stretching when he walked into the room. She smiled and waved. She was, of course, wearing tight black yoga pants that clung to her perfect ass and a workout top that hugged her gorgeous curves. Fuck. His mind snapped back to Betty writhing on his lap in the cottage last night. That had been unexpected and beyond hot and he still could barely believe it had happened. He willed his body not to react and tried valiantly not to stare as he plopped down on the mat behind her. The smarter thing would have been to take spot farther away, but he didn’t want to look like he was avoiding her, and decided he would rather torture himself with proximity. “What is a writer but a tortured soul?” he wondered, silently laughing at his absurd cliche.

The workshop began with a few sun salutations led by Val Brown, a professor of religious studies at the university. “I want you to focus on your breathing. Set an intention for this meditative process. We will begin in mountain pose, standing up straight, feet slightly apart, palms facing the front of the room.” As the instructor worked her way through the poses, Betty had a chance to rest for a moment in downward facing dog. A pose that should have been a lot more restorative, except that her legs provided the perfect frame to stare through at Jughead’s beautiful arms. The arms that had been wrapped around her last night. His back was covered by a black tank top that clung to his body, and she wanted nothing more than to rip that shirt right off of him. His ever present beanie had tumbled off his head during his downward facing dog and his hair looked so thick and soft. She could take the time to stare at the tattoo on his arm-- it was a boat in a storm with the words “fluctuat nec mergitur” under it. Her mouth watered involuntarily, and she swallowed slowly, licked her lips, and tried to re-focus on her breathing. When they were in their final standing pose and the teacher had said ‘namaste’, she glanced back over her shoulder at Jughead. He met her eyes, smirked, and winked at her. “Namaste” he mouthed silently. She flushed scarlet and was beyond grateful when the yoga was over and Val had everyone lie down on their mats for a brief guided meditation. 

While Betty was grateful for the focus the guided meditation provided, Jughead found his mind wandering back to Betty over and over-- her captivating mind, her beautiful face, the interesting prospect he had before him-- getting to know a stranger intimately, both emotionally and physically. He shifted uncomfortably on his mat, willing his body not to respond embarrassingly in this public place. He gritted his teeth and let out a shaky breath as he brought his attention back to the instructor’s voice. He was here for his writing, dammit, and he needed to focus. 

After the meditation concluded, Val stepped to the front of the room again. “First we moved our bodies. Then we quieted our minds through meditation. Then we listened to what came up. Hopefully some things began to come up for you during the meditation." Jughead grimaced at the phrasing as she continued. "The next step is using our voice to process what we learned. In your case, as writers, you have the opportunity to channel your voice through the written word.” 

The instructor uncapped a dry erase marker, and wrote a couple of journaling prompts on the board. 

1\. What is your greatest fear when it comes to your writing?  
2\. If you didn’t have to worry about money or other people’s opinions, what would you write about?

“I want to encourage everyone to take the next hour to begin to explore one or both of these topics. Each of them should provide a good springboard for future contemplation. Don’t edit yourself, when you’re journaling, just let whatever comes out come out.” 

Betty found a seat and stared at the board, trying to decide where to begin. She glanced at Jughead, who had found a seat several rows over. Much to her surprise, he was frantically scribbling in his journal with a scowl on his face. He certainly seemed to have a lot on his mind for someone with writers block. 

Once the morning workshop was over, Jughead wandered out of the room, still deep in thought about everything that had come up with the second journal prompt. He was in deep fucking trouble with his writing. He was startled out of his reverie hearing Betty call his name for what must have been the second or third time. “Jug! Do you want to grab lunch? There’s a cute little coffee shop on campus that has sandwiches and pastries.” 

“Yeah. That would be good. I’m completely starving,” he muttered absentmindedly. They walked to the coffee shop in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. After they had ordered their food, they settled at a picnic table on the lawn in front of the coffee house.

“So?” Betty asked, leaning forward “Did you have any breakthroughs? Figure anything out?” 

Jughead sighed, pulled his beanie off his head, and sat there twisting it in his hands. “Yeah, basically that I can’t write about what I want to write about because I’m pretty sure no one will want to read it, and the entire reason I am having such awful writers block is that I’m trying to write for other people rather than myself. I drew so heavily on my own experiences for my first book. And I was really close to that experience, emotionally and time wise. But I’m still trying to write about that old version of myself who doesn’t exist anymore. And that’s why I can’t do it.” 

“Wow. That’s huge, Jug.” She studied him carefully. He didn’t seem pleased by this major breakthrough. 

“But what do I do now?” He looked well and truly lost. Betty was not sure if the question was rhetorical or not, but she decided to answer anyway. 

“Well, could you do the same thing you did last time you wrote, when you were drawing on what you were going through at the time? If it’s not authentic to write about the past, then write about what’s going on now!” 

Jughead pursed his lips, and stared at her with a furrowed brow.  
“My counselor in rehab told me I had a victim complex and I needed to start focusing on the good things in my life and work on my relationship with my dad. And you know what? It actually helped. Things are going smoothly with him for the first time in years. A lot of things in my life are going smoothly. And maybe that’s the problem. I can’t write about a boring 30 year old getting his apartment organized and paying bills on time for the first time in his life because he’s no longer the giant shitshow he was when he was committing some crimes, solving others, and living on whisky, cigarettes, and moral ambiguity. But no one is going to want to read that! I’m not here to write the next ‘Eat Pray Love’ wherein a well-off white guy finds himself. My readers want the weird, gritty ethos.” he snapped in irritation. 

“Jesus, Jughead, I’m not saying write about your daily routine and gratitude journal! I’m just saying, you can write about your main character healing from trauma and going on to live a fuller life! There are plenty of ways to show that! Authentic is authentic. People are dying for honesty and vulnerability. And if you’re honestly healing and that is what is authentic to your life right now, write about that! You and your writing don’t have to stay miserable and broken and stuck just because it’s on brand! You don’t get a prize for staying unhappy!” she snapped back, raising her voice more than she meant to. 

He stared at her in silence, her words ringing in his ears. 

“Chicken salad on greens and two ham and swiss sandwiches on wheat!” chirped the peppy college age waitress, setting down their food in front of them on the table with a bit more force than necessary. Pausing momentarily to stare at them with an air of thinly veiled disdain, she flipped her long red hair over her shoulder with her perfectly manicured crimson nails and strode away purposefully. 

The interruption broke the tension, and Betty huffed out a breath with a wry smile on her face. “Anyway, I should probably take my own advice.” she finished quietly. 

“Why, what level of internal hell did you unearth when you did your journaling?” he asked with a smirk. 

“Oh, you know, the usual. Just that I’m afraid I’ll never be good enough.” 

He stared at her with raised eyebrows and began scarfing down his first sandwich, waiting for her to elaborate. 

She stabbed at her chicken salad half heartedly. 

“I have been trying to prove to the world and everyone that I have things under control. I work all these hours. I never miss a deadline for the magazine. I’m predictable. I’m dependable. I floss. I wash my face before bed every night. And like I said last night, it’s fucking killing me. I’m so miserable. I thought I was “better” after I got back from the mental hospital. I thought I was better when I started eating carbs and stopped self harming. But maybe I’ve just shifted my need for control to other aspects of my life.” 

“Are you ‘so tired of being good,’ Betty?” he joked, hoping she’d catch the Crybaby reference. 

She met his eyes with a knowing smile and chuckled softly, then grew serious again. “Yes. I am. I’m so tired of never having any fun. I just want to scream ‘fuck it’ and and stop being so controlled by my need to be perfect all the time. When I was a kid I was never ever good enough. And all I want is for one second to feel like I’m enough. Not because I’m achieving. Not because I’m turning in an article with perfect grammar. Not because I worked out three times per week and burned 500 calories each time. But just. Because I’m me. Because I’m okay just how I am and I would be okay just how I was if I did none of those things. I want so badly to truly believe that.”


	7. Taking Instruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute. Life, peeps. It happens. 
> 
> Anyway, feelings are happening and pants are coming off again, so get excited if you're into that. Which, let's be real, you probably are.

Tears suddenly prickled in Betty’s eyes, and her voice broke. She felt the solid warmth of Jughead’s hand on her forearm, his thumb rubbing gently. 

“Betts? Are you okay?”

She looked at the table, furiously trying to swallow down the lump in her throat, willing herself not to cry. If there was anything Betty Cooper hated, it was crying in public. Usually she could choke it down, bottle it up, save it for later. But not today. As the hot tears spilled down her face, she took a shuddering breath in, and looked around frantically for a way to escape.

Jughead’s eyes were wide, but there was no panic on his face. He squeezed her arm, his hand firm and warm, grounding her. “Betty, look at me. I am going to go get us to-go boxes, and we can get out of here. Okay?”

She nodded blindly as he got up and strode purposefully towards the door of the restaurant. Betty laid her palms flat against the rough, dark green painted wood of the picnic table, warm from the sun, and started taking deep, shaky breaths, willing herself not to start spiraling, tears still falling down her cheeks unbidden. 

Before she knew it, Jughead was back out, had hastily scooped all the food into a couple of boxes, and was leading her down the path to the cottages, one hand holding the food, the other resting on her low back. 

“I’m so sorry”, she choked out. 

“For what? Being human? Having emotions?” 

She let out a watery laugh. “Yeah, I guess.” 

When they got to the cottage, Jughead dumped the food on the table and turned to face Betty. He held his arms open and pulled her in for a tight hug. “It’s okay, Betts.” 

Betty wasn’t sure how long she stood there crying, Jughead rubbing her back as she clung to him, her face buried in his chest. After a while, Betty’s tears stopped and a feeling of calm relief came over her. She took a deep breath in and blew it out steadily. Her grip on him tightened and she nuzzled her face against his neck. The feeling of her wet eyelashes against his skin made him shiver. He could have stood there forever, smelling her vanilla shampoo and holding her body against his. 

As he held her through her tears, his mind wandered to the events of the previous night. After she had blown into and out of his cottage like a hurricane, leaving him staring at the door in stupid, grinning shock, he had found himself unable to settle his mind enough to sleep. So he had stayed up absurdly late googling her and reading her articles. As he read piece after piece, it became abundantly clear to him that he was damned lucky to be in her presence. All his initial suspicions of her were true-- she was an amazing writer and whip smart. The careful way she paid attention to those around her was evident in her work. Her articles delved into the very heart of the topics she covered, digging into the emotional and social underpinnings of complex issues. He was a little intimidated, to be honest. And here she was with him, showing a totally different, more vulnerable and intimate part of herself, folded comfortably into his arms. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly, finally stepping back and looking up at him with such sincerity on her beautiful, tear-stained face it made his heart ache. “No one has ever done that for me before.” She broke into a sheepish smile. “And for what it’s worth, weeping all over you like that after knowing you less than 24 hours is definitely my new most embarrassing moment, but thank you for being here for me.” 

“No one has ever done that for you before??” Jughead’s voice was more incredulous than he had intended and he winced slightly. Growing up on the wrong side of the tracks, he had always idolized people on the nicer side of town. It was so easy to imagine their lives were easier and smoother, so somehow it was still shocking, all these years later, to realize that sometimes well off people had parents as fucked up as his. 

Betty sank down into one of the two chairs at the small kitchen table and grabbed her salad out of the bag, suddenly needing something to do with her hands. Jughead fished around for a fork for Betty in the kitchen drawer, and brought glasses of water for them from the sink. Betty smiled at him gratefully. 

“Nope. I usually was told I was being dramatic if I ever tried to express a ‘negative’ emotion.” She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Stiff upper lip and all that. The Alice Cooper way of life.”

“That’s fucked up.” 

“Yep.” 

They sat there quietly, finishing their lunch. While the silence at the reception the previous night had felt awkward and strained, Jughead felt nothing but a sense of comfortable companionship. After a bit, his curiosity got the better of him. “So, at the risk of a vulnerability hangover, do you want to continue with last night’s line of questioning or did you want to talk about something else?” 

Betty’s eyes brightened and a bashful smile lit up her face. “I mean, after what just happened, might as well go big or go home, right? So what’ll it be? Regrets? Sex? Something else entirely?” 

Jughead’s eyes darkened at the word ‘sex’ and Betty swallowed instinctively, knowing what he was going to ask. 

…

After they had settled back onto what Jughead had dubbed “the couch of truth”, Betty sat, fiddling nervously with the edge of her tank top. “I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this.” 

As curious as he was, Jughead was not going to push. “Look, if you’re not comfortable with this, we can absolutely change the subject.” 

“I mean, this was my idea. I’m still on board with it, but it’s just so personal, you know? But I guess that’s the point of the experiment.” Betty trailed off quietly, almost as if she were talking to herself. She paused for a moment, nodded to herself, and set her jaw resolutely. She turned to Jughead, and looking him straight in the eye, she began. “I haven’t had that much experience. I’ve only had one one night stand, and two serious boyfriends. But when I was a senior in high school, I was under so much pressure, my anxiety was out of control, and I…. I needed an outlet of some kind. So I did some work as a cam girl. I never met up with anyone or did anything dangerous, but it opened up this world of sexual exploration for me that I’ve been interested in ever since. And yeah, my parents found out, and that’s how I ended up being shipped off to the mental hospital.” 

Jughead raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Did you not explore with your boyfriends?” 

Betty made a face “I suggested a few things, but once I got shot down a few times I was too self conscious to keep asking. And you know, the sex was… fine.” She shrugged noncommittally. 

“What do you want to try?” Jughead tried to keep his face carefully neutral, but was praying furiously to the gods of freaky sex that he and Betty might have some things in common. 

“Welllll….” Betty’s eyes grew unfocused as she looked off far away. “What I would really love is a guy who can take direction and learn the basics of my body without getting his ego bruised. And after that, I just want to try...” Betty’s mouth opened and shut a few times as she searched for the right words. 

“What, Betty?”

“Everything.” 

Jughead wasn’t sure who moved first, but in a moment they had crashed together, kissing like desperate teenagers. Betty reached down and yanked his shirt over his head, pausing just long enough to yank her tank top off too, before grabbing fistfulls of his hair and hauling his face back to hers. He reached behind her and unhooked her bra, which she flung to the side without a second thought. He palmed her breasts roughly, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, making her sigh into his mouth. He pulled her onto his lap, trying not to moan at the feeling of her bare skin pressed against his.

“Betts” he panted into her mouth “show me how you like to be touched.” 

“Bed.” she commanded. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, he picked her up, tossed her onto the bed, and crawled over her, kicking his shoes off behind him. She let her legs fall open, and he nestled himself between them on top of her, pressing hot, open mouth kisses down the column of her neck, pausing to lick and suck on her nipples, earning him breathy moans that went straight to his cock. He kissed down her stomach, nipped at her hip bones, and proceeded to peel her yoga pants off and toss them to the floor. He looked up and found her watching him, looking disheveled, flushed, and panting, legs spread wide. Desire pounded through his veins and he briefly envisioned ripping her panties off and fucking her into the mattress. 

“Come up here.” she whispered roughly, as she slowly pushed her pink lace panties down her legs and kicked them off. She grabbed his arm and pulled it behind her neck. 

Jughead obeyed, coming to snuggle next to her, his almost painful erection pressing into the side of her bare leg. 

“Take off your pants.” 

“Yes ma’am” he growled into her ear, flicking it gently with his tongue. She shuddered, her legs falling farther open. She let out a trembling breath, then reached out for Jughead’s hand, placing her fingers behind his, and guided it slowly over her body. She was already turned on, but he knew just how to tease her. 

When she finally reached down and gently brushed his fingers over her core, he found her slick and swollen already. She guided his fingers through her folds, and began circling her clit with his long, nimble fingers, showing him the exact pressure and rhythm she liked. After a few moments trying to carefully commit this to memory, he snuck a look at her face. Her eyes were shut with concentration, and she was biting down hard on her lip. He was struck with awe by how trusting she was, lying here with him in broad daylight with nothing to hide behind. 

She was pushing his fingers down harder onto her clit now, rocking her hips up into them. He reached down and sucked a nipple into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the hardened tip. This put Betty over the edge into a blissful orgasm, her head pressed back into the pillow, her thighs clamping shut on their intertwined hands, a ragged moan spilling out of her mouth as she trembled and shook. 

Several moments later, she opened her eyes and stared up at him, looking glassy eyed and sated. 

He pulled their fingers to his mouth and licked and sucked her wetness off them, and by the end of it she was breathing heavily again.

“Can I try it again, by myself? To make sure I got it?” 

Her eyes snapped to his in surprise, but she nodded. “Can you take off your boxers though? I want to feel all of you.”

This time, he curled his body more fully around hers, pulling her back against him so they were almost spooning. He kissed the back of her neck as he began ghosting his fingers over her front, teasing her by gently scratching her inner thighs, and lower stomach, barely touching her nipples. Finally, when she was about to grab his hand and take matters literally into her own hands, he reached down and flicked her clit a few times before running his fingers between her folds and circling her clit just how she had shown him. She was still sensitive from her last orgasm, but slowly began to build towards her next. She could feel his rock hard cock pressing against her ass and she was turned on by the idea of teasing Jug as he pleasured her. She slowly began to rock against his hand, making sure to press her ass back, pinning what she was now sure was his dripping cock between them.

Betty started to think about what that cock might feel like inside of her, sliding inside, filling and stretching her. She was flushed, breathing harshly and slowly became aware that Jughead had eased up on the pressure and was slowing down. She turned over to look at him and went nearly breathless with desire when she saw him staring at her with open need, pupils blown wide, a flush rising up his chest and neck. 

“Please Jug, I have condoms in my bag?” Betty begged, taking a moment to thank god that Kevin had forced her to bring some. 

Jughead nodded, and she was out of bed and back like a flash, hastily ripping open the foil packet and sliding it down over his cock. She pushed him onto his back, took him in her hand, and slowly slid down until they were flush together, then leaned down to rest her forehead against his. He had a death grip on her hips, was breathing harshly, and whispered into her mouth through gritted teeth, “Don’t move.” 

She was already so turned on that she was having a hard time controlling herself but after a few agonizing moments, he finally let go of her hips and she started moving. He slowed her again and before she could protest he flipped them over, pressed her into the mattress, and took over. She spread her legs even wider as he held her, clinging to her shoulders for purchase as he built up a punishing rhythm. 

Betty was bucking up into him, grinding her clit onto his pubic bone as he pounded into her, strings of filthy curses spilling from her mouth as their bodies began to glisten with sweat and her eyes began to glaze over in pleasure. He did not know how it was possible to be more turned on than he already was but hearing those filthy words coming out of her perfect pink lips almost ended him. 

He began whispering obscenities into her ear, telling her everything he wanted to do to her and how he wanted to feel her clench on his cock as the heat began to pool low in his belly. 

“Fuck Jug, I’m about to come.” she whimpered. He reached down between them and started stroking her clit, sending surges of pleasure through her body. 

An agonizing moment later, she grabbed his ass and pulled him deep one last time before falling over the edge in white hot ecstasy, moaning “Yes!”, the powerful flutters of her orgasm pushing him over the edge right behind her. 

They laid there in a panting sweaty tangle for a few moments. 

“Holy shit” Betty mumbled. 

“Yeah.” 

“That was…” she trailed off blissfully.

“Yeah.” 

Betty laid her hand palm up, in a silent invitation. Jughead reached out and intertwined their fingers. They laid there quietly for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. 

“We have our afternoon workshops in an hour,” Betty eventually said, breaking the silence. “So I’m going to head back to my cottage to get ready.” 

“Jughead?” 

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” A beatific smile broke across Betty’s face. Jughead didn’t think he would ever get tired of seeing her look that relaxed. He chuckled. “I really should thank you too. That was the best end to a dry spell ever, probably.” 

She grabbed her clothes and freshened up in his bathroom, smiling the whole time. She couldn’t get over how happy she looked in the mirror. It was borderline ridiculous-- she was fucking flushed and glowing. 

Jughead had pulled on some sweatpants by the time she got out of the bathroom, but was still beautifully shirtless. His hair was in glorious disarray and Betty felt a sense of smug pride blossom in her chest that She Caused That. 

He walked her to the door, gave her a chaste kiss, another murmured “thank you”, and a promise to see her soon.


End file.
